


Five Times Draco Malfoy Got Sacked (And One Time He Didn't)

by emmagrant01



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: First Time, M/M, Post - Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-17
Updated: 2010-12-17
Packaged: 2017-10-29 14:48:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,389
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/321017
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmagrant01/pseuds/emmagrant01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Dark Lord was destroyed, Draco Malfoy had to start all over. He had no idea it would be quite so difficult.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Times Draco Malfoy Got Sacked (And One Time He Didn't)

**Author's Note:**

> Set immediately after the end of Book 7, and definitely heading toward EWE. Written for hd_holidays 2010 on LJ, for Faithwood.
> 
> Originally posted [on hd_holidays here](http://hd-holidays.livejournal.com/179917.html) and also [on my LJ here](http://emmagrant01.livejournal.com/462720.html).

The day after the Dark Lord was finally destroyed, Draco went to bed. He didn't get out of bed for six weeks.

The days and nights blurred together until he wasn't sure what time it was, what day of the week it was, or even what month it was -- and he didn't care. The only constants were the warmth of the blankets over him, the trays of food Mother set beside his bed at regular intervals, which he sometimes nibbled from but often ignored, and the everpresent feeling of emptiness surrounding him. He felt like he'd been kissed by a Dementor, that his soul had abandoned his body, leaving a shell of a wizard behind.

The silencing spells around his room kept out the ordinary sounds of the household, and he existed in darkness and silence, fading in and out of sleep, plagued by nightmares of what he'd seen and heard and done in the last few years. There were good dreams too, ones in which he felt a shiver of something almost like happiness, but the feeling slipped away like so much smoke once he started to wake again.

The nightmare was over, but what was left of his life?

Once in a while there would be a warm body pressed against him, and the scent of Mother's perfume would drift over him when he inhaled. She squeezed him tightly, and he remembered being a child and sneaking into his parents' bed in the wee hours of the morning, wanting nothing more than to be surrounded by their warmth and safety, to feel completely enveloped by them. Mother always knew he was there, and would drape an arm over him as he snuggled against her. When he woke in the morning, he would lie as still as he could, pretending to be asleep so that Mother would stay with him as long as possible. She would kiss his forehead gently and slip away at last, leaving him alone in the big bed. Father would never be there when he woke, and though he never said anything, Draco knew he didn't approve.

He feigned sleep until Mother left, and then the coldness and emptiness engulfed him again. He couldn't bring himself to let her know he knew she was there, not even with a squeeze of his hand. He thought she knew anyway.

After weeks, maybe even months, he decided it was time to get out of bed. Nothing had changed; he didn't feel any differently. It was just time to get on with it. He sat up in bed, stared around him for a moment, and then got up.

He hadn't shaved or showered in weeks, and he'd forgotten the sheer pleasure to be found in warm water sliding over his skin. His cheeks were covered with blond stubble, too sparse to be called a proper beard, and he had to dig through the cabinets in the washroom to find his shaving kit. His hair needed cutting badly, but he didn't dare try it himself.

He'd expected Mother and Father at least to be surprised when he walked into the kitchen and joined them at the table, but they weren't. Father glanced up from a copy of the _Daily Prophet_ , narrowed his eyes, and looked back at the paper again. Mother smiled warmly and went to fetch him a cup of tea.

He sat at the table, squinting in the strangely bright light. He'd only rarely eaten a meal in this kitchen before. It had always been the domain of the house elves; the family had taken meals in the dining room.

His stomach lurched -- he couldn't imagine setting foot in that room again. Actually, there weren't many rooms in the house he could bear to be in anymore. The small kitchen suddenly seemed quite claustrophobic. This had been his home for his entire life, but he wasn't sure how much longer he could stay here.

"What would you like to do today, Draco?" Mother asked, as if he were home on summer holiday with nothing to worry about until September.

He stared blankly ahead for a moment, then glanced at Father. A picture of Harry Potter smiled demurely from the front page of the paper. Draco's stomach lurched again.

Mother set a bowl of porridge before him, and he wrinkled his nose. Her cooking spells were a bit rusty after years of disuse, but with no house elves left, she had little choice. Manners were bred into him, and so he picked up a spoon and forced down a bite.

"Actually, I'm going to go out and look for a position somewhere," he said, injecting as much pleasantry into his tone as he could manage after not speaking for weeks. He had no idea where the thought had come from, but once he said it aloud, it seemed like a good plan. "It'll give me something to do."

Mother's expression became a bit strained. "Yes, of course, dear. Good luck, then." She looked down into her cup of tea, as if uncertain what else to say.

Father rustled the paper a bit, and said nothing.

*****

[ONE]

It was easier to get a position than he'd anticipated. His first thought had been the Ministry, and he'd simply shown up at the door of one of Father's old colleagues and presented himself as available. He'd expected to be tossed out on his ear, but to his surprise he'd been sent to personnel to fill out the proper paperwork straight away. The Ministry was still in disarray after the War, it seemed, and there was so much work to be done that the staff were a bit desperate.

He was assigned the position of Owl Boy -- only barely above the rank of toilet cleaner, but highly preferable nonetheless. His task was to sort the owl post that came in and route it to the appropriate office by casting flying memo charms. It was mindless work, for which he was grateful.

The worst part of the first day had been when he'd had to admit he didn't have a wand, and had to go to the Ministry's Wand Office to sign one out for the day. That was the first thing he'd buy with his pay, he decided. Working with a company wand was even more humiliating than being an Owl Boy.

He worked long days, partly because there was so much to be done and he needed the money, but also because as unpleasant as it was to step in owl shit all day long, it was still better than suffocating at home. His coworkers steered clear of him, and he didn't care. He did his job, kept his head down, and kept his thoughts focused on having his very own wand again.

He'd been there nearly a week before the supervisor, a squat wizard in his thirties named Pricthard, deigned to speak to him.

"Malfoy, is it?" Pritchard asked with a sniff. His beady eyes raked over Draco's too-short robes, purchased more than a year ago, and Draco felt a stab of embarrassment.

"Yeah."

Pritchard held out a large package. "This one has to be hand-delivered. Thought you might like an outing." There was a strange smile on his face, almost a leer.

Draco took the package and glanced at the label:

_Please deliver to :_  
Arthur Weasley  
Office for the Detection and Confiscation of Counterfeit Defensive Spells and Protective Objects.  
DO NOT SHAKE OR DROP!!!

He looked up, his eyes narrow. "Are you taking the piss?"

Pritchard snickered, an oddly pig-like sound. "I'll take a lot more than that if you don't move your arse and deliver that package."

Draco glared at him and opened his mouth to protest, but paused -- everyone in the owlery had turned to sneer at him -- they were likely all in on it. He straightened his back, forced a polite expression to his face, and nodded. "Fine. I'll be right back."

He heard snickering as he left the owlery, and he gritted his teeth. He'd actually expected to be treated much worse than this, and the week had gone fairly smoothly until now. But it was inevitable he'd run into some of Potter's allies eventually, and he might as well get it over with.

He felt eyes on him as he strode down the corridor, heard whispers behind him in the lift. It became increasingly harder to ignore them, but he managed. As he drew closer to Weasley's department, the knot in his belly tightened. Perhaps he could just leave the package outside the door, then knock and dash away before Weasley saw him. Perhaps he'd be lucky and Weasley would be out of the office, and the package would have to be delivered another time.

He turned the corner to the Department With the Longest Name Ever and stepped through the archway. The corridor was bustling with people, most of whom stared at him as he walked past. He wished he could hide behind the package, but it was far too small. And to top it off, Weasley's office door was open and his annoyingly plebian laugh was tumbling out of it.

Draco paused outside the door and took a deep breath. There was nothing else for it, so he stepped inside, clearing his throat as he did. Two men turned to stare at him, their eyes widening in surprise. One was Arthur Weasley, and the other, to Draco's horror, was Harry Potter.

Draco stood in the doorway for a moment, clenching the package. He felt blood rushing to his face, but there was nothing he could do.

"Package," he managed at last. His voice cracked a bit. He wanted to disappear into the floor.

"Thank you… Draco," Weasley said, and his eyes flicked down to the large security badge pinned to Draco's robe, which displayed his position and department in the most obvious way possible. "You can just… put it there." He gestured to a table by the door.

Draco dropped the package on the table, and it made a tremendous clanking sound. He dashed away without another word, unable to even look at the two of them another moment. He pushed his way through the corridor, ignoring the glares of people he passed. He was a fucking _Malfoy_ , and these people should just get the fuck out of his way. It would probably never be that way again, and the thought made his even angrier.

Potter's green eyes scrutinizing him had been the worst of it. He could have lived out his days without ever coming face-to-face with Potter again -- so why the hell did he have to run into him only a few days after venturing out of his house?

"Malfoy, wait!" Potter's voice cut through the sounds of the busy corridor, far closer than Draco would have liked.

He didn't turn to look as he jabbed the lift call button with his finger, willing it to come. The doors opened and he leapt inside, forcing several wizards in official-looking robes to flatten themselves against the back of the car.

"Close, close, close," he whispered, and the doors obeyed, sliding slowly shut.

"Malfoy!" Potter's face appeared through the grate, but it was too late -- he just stared at Malfoy with an oddly intent look on his face, and then the car flew backwards, and Potter disappeared from view.

Draco exhaled, and pressed a hand to his forehead. He could feel the eyes of the lift's other occupants drilling into his back, but he ignored them. Fuck them all. Let them stare, let them whisper. He'd borne far worse.

He stepped off the lift the next time the doors opened, and wound his way down an unfamiliar corridor until he found another bank of lifts. He got lost two more times before finally making his way back to the owlery.

"Took you long enough," snapped Pritchard as he walked through the door.

"Had to piss on the way back," Draco replied. "That's allowed, isn't it?"

He went back to work, sorting through owl post and redirecting letters, but he kept thinking about the look on Potter's face as the lift doors closed, the near-desperation with which Potter had wanted to talk to him. What could that have been about? He couldn't think of any reason why Potter would want to talk to him. Did he want Draco to thank him for saving his life in the Room of Requirement? Did he want a chance to play the magnanimous hero and ask after Draco's health, after his parents' well-being?

Draco snorted at the thought, and flicked the borrowed wand at a pile of letters that were to be sent to the Ministry of Transportation. They flew into the air and went in ten different directions, twirling aimlessly before fluttering down to the owl-shit-coated floor.

"Bugger," Draco muttered, and tried to cast the correct spell. The borrowed wand was not cooperating, and it took several tries before the letters were finally on their way.

He turned to a larger pile he'd sorted earlier; all were headed to the Department of Finance. Potter's face was still hanging in his mind, the sound of his voice calling down the corridor still ringing in his ears.

Of all people to run into, why did it have to be _Potter_? And why the hell did he have to look so composed, so well-dressed, so… _good_?

Draco winced; he'd put those sorts of thoughts about Potter out of his head long ago. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine Potter's disappointed face as the lift door closed between them, this time with Draco laughing as the car sped away, and he smirked.

There was a strange sound then, like a sort of muffled explosion, and then there were bits of paper in the air all around him. The resting owls were startled out of their sleep, and they began screeching and flapping about, adding feathers and even more owl shit to the rain of paper all around.

"What the hell?" shouted Pritchard, and Draco realized that everyone in the room was staring at him. He was in the middle of it all, covered with feathers and owl shit and bits of paper -- the remains of the entire morning's post, all the letters that had yet to be routed to the correct destinations. Pritchard stalked toward him, his face nearly purple with rage. "What have you done?"

"Me?" Draco blurted indignantly -- and then realized it must have been him. He couldn't control the borrowed wand very well, and he must have accidentally blown them all up. He groaned, knowing what was coming next.

"You're fired, Malfoy. Fired! Out!"

The others snickered, and a few even exchanged gold, and Draco sighed. It was just as well. He was miserable here anyway.

He returned the borrowed wand, picked up his meager wages, and apparated straight home.

"I'm so sorry, darling," Mother said, pouring him a cup of tea that afternoon. "But of course, it was not the right position for you. With your background and education, they should have offered you something far more dignified, anyway."

Draco didn't respond. He dropped a lump of sugar into his tea cup and stirred. His earned wages were pathetic, barely a fraction of what he'd need to buy a new wand. He knew what the daily wage was when he'd taken the job, but somehow hadn't realized just how little money it was. He'd never thought about how much Father earned working at the Ministry. He'd never thought much about money at all, really -- it was always there, his whenever he wanted it.

But things had changed, and he knew they barely had enough to put food on the table. Mother had been talking about planting a vegetable garden over breakfast that morning, going on about the proper spells for encouraging plants to grow quickly. As far as Draco could tell, they were eating out of the pantry, and no one had bought food for weeks.

He looked up and forced a pleasant expression. "Yes, Mother. I'll look again tomorrow, and I'll find something better."

Mother's smile was almost patronizing. "Oh Draco, you're just not meant to work. Why don't you stay home and rest, get your strength back. You can help me sort out the house, plant the garden. You look so tired, so pale."

Draco's smile hardened a bit. "Don't worry about me, Mother. I'll be fine."

And he would. As soon as he got out of this damned house.

*****

[TWO]

"And then you turn this knob, and cast _fuminino_ , and the coffee comes out here. Got it?" Maya -- Draco seriously doubted that was her real name -- raised one pierced eyebrow at him. Her other piercings were so distracting that Draco had to force himself to look into her eyes when she spoke.

"Right."

She leaned back against the counter and scrutinized him for a moment. "You look familiar to me. Dave, is it?"

"Dave," Draco repeated. He'd decided to give a false name this time around. "I don't think we've ever have met before. I didn't grow up around here. Today was the first time I've been to Diagon Alley in years."

"You weren't at Hogwarts?"

"No. Ah… Homeschooled, actually." She shot him a suspicious look, and he added, "I'm not a squib or anything. Just… my parents were a bit… Swedish." _Shut it, Draco._

"Hmmm," she said, though she didn't look convinced. "Well, _Dave_ , here comes your first customer. I'll call the orders, and you wave the wand."

Draco exhaled slowly, trying to calm his nerves. He'd borrowed Goyle's wand for this first day, promising to bring him some pastries in payment, but the few practice spells he'd tried to cast that morning hadn't exactly gone as planned. He had no idea how he was going to remember to make all the different coffee drinks. He didn't even like coffee, and had no idea why London wizards would be lining up out the door for the stuff.

The café opened, and witches and wizards filed in. The orders started coming, and with Maya's help, Draco was able to keep up. Happily, Goyle's wand was obeying his orders, as long as he kept his focus. A half hour in, it began to be difficult to keep it all straight, and before Draco knew it, he had a large stack of orders waiting, and a rather large and irate crowd of caffeine-deprived wizards demanding to know when their drinks would be ready.

"Break time," Maya chirped, clapping him on the back.

"Thank Merlin!"

"For me, not for you." She smirked and disappeared into the back of the café, leaving Draco all alone with the coffee-making equipment. The cashier, who looked as terrified as Draco did, gave him a weak smile.

Twenty minutes later the morning rush was done, and Draco had mostly survived. He'd been yelled at, sworn at, and even threatened by one haggard-looking witch who needed her caramel macchiato NOW-dammit, but he'd managed to keep his cool through it all. He was rather proud of himself.

Lunch time was busy again, and then there was another lull until mid-afternoon. Once again Maya took a well-timed break, leaving him alone with the spotty cashier, whose small voice was difficult to hear over the din of the coffee machinery. He was just settling into a rhythm when he heard a familiar voice say his name.

"Malfoy?"

Draco felt his insides twist, and he hesitated before looking up. It was Potter. Harry _fucking_ Potter, again. What the hell?

"Stalking me, Potter?" he managed, struggling to keep his focus on the machine gurgling in front of him.

"Surprised to see you, is all. How long have you been working here?"

The cashier called out several unintelligible orders, and Draco gritted his teeth. "Just tell me what you ordered, and I'll get it out first." If he could just make Potter's drink, maybe he'd leave. And then Draco wouldn't have to think about the fact that he'd seen more of Potter this week than in the last year. Quite a bit more, if dreams counted.

Potter smirked at him, and Draco had a moment of panic. Potter wasn’t a _Legilimens_ , was he?

"Just a cappuccino."

Merlin, but this was humiliating. Draco cast charms to steam the milk and brew the espresso simultaneously. He had to get this over with, get Potter out of here.

"I need to talk to you, Malfoy. When do you get off?"

"I don't," he retorted, keeping his focus on the machine. "I sleep in the back."

"I'm serious. I really need a word with you." He leaned forward a bit, peering at Draco over the top of the machine. "In _private_."

Draco's eyes shot up at that, and before he could look away, turn away, or duck behind the machine, his cheeks flushed red. And as if taking pity on him, the coffee machine made a loud gurgling sound and began to shake, drawing everyone's attention.

Draco backed away, pointing Goyle's wand at it. Customers fled the shop. Maya came rushing back around the corner just in time to see a part fly off and crash through a window.

" _Protego_!" she shouted, and a shield formed around the machine just before it exploded, containing a mass of shrapnel that would have injured everyone present. She turned to glare at Draco, who'd gone pale by this point. "Are you insane? What did you do?"

Draco could only shake his head. He knew what was coming next.

"You're done here," she snapped, piercings jiggling as her face screwed up with anger. "Get out, and don't come back!"

Draco pulled the black apron over his head and left without another word. Potter didn't follow him -- if he had, Draco would likely have hexed him, and considering his wand situation, there was no telling how that might have turned out.

He couldn't bear to go home, so he apparated back to Goyle's house, a summer cottage his family owned and were letting him live in. Draco didn't bother knocking; he just pushed his way in the door. Goyle sat up on the couch, blinking at him, clearly awakened from a nap.

"Oy, Draco. Did you bring the chocolate ones I wanted?"

Draco snorted, and collapsed into a chair. He tossed Goyle's wand at him, and leaned his head back, staring up at the ceiling.

"Got sacked again, did you? Sorry, mate."

Draco sighed. This was not how his life was supposed to go. He was supposed to be looking forward to a future filled with power and prestige, and enough money to buy whatever he wanted. His biggest worry should have been how to navigate the whole gay thing with his parents, but instead, he was just trying to figure out how to make a life for himself in a world where the name Malfoy no longer got him everything -- or even a single thing -- he wanted.

It sucked.

"Can I kip on your sofa tonight? Father will really take the piss when he hears about this." Actually, it was Mother he was more worried about. Father barely said three words to him at a time any more.

"Yeah, sure." Goyle was quiet for a moment. "I've got some firewhisky stashed away. It's some of my dad's good stuff. Want some?"

"Yes," Draco replied, closing his eyes. It was exactly what he needed right now. He'd wasted an entire day in that damned coffee shop, and hadn't even got paid for it. And to make matters worse, he'd run into Potter again. Why couldn't he run into Potter in some more favorable circumstance, one in which he wasn’t humiliating himself in a subservient position of employment?

The last year had taken a lot from him, and it had apparently taken his pride to boot.

They drank most of the night, and Draco spent much of the next day vomiting. He was miserable, but it was oddly cathartic. He felt cleansed, and on the second day was ready to face the world again. He left Goyle on the sofa, still recovering from his own hangover.

"Need to borrow my wand again?" Goyle asked, settling down with a pillow and blanket.

"Actually, yes." Draco picked it up and twirled it in his fingers. "Thanks. For everything."

Goyle attempted to smile, but turned a bit green. "It's nothing, mate. I owe you, you know."

It was the first time the day in the Room of Requirement had come up. "I know," Draco said, and turned to leave. "I'll bring it back tonight."

"And get pizza this time," Goyle called after him.

*****

[THREE]

Draco stepped out of his small flat and headed down the stairs into the bustle of Diagon Alley. The morning was unusually warm and muggy for September, but he'd cast a cooling charm on his new suit before leaving, and was quite comfortable. He was running late, so he darted down the pavement, weaving in and out of crowds of morning shoppers until he reached the door of Twilfitt and Tatting's.

The bell rang as he entered, and he gave a curt nod to the woman standing on the far side of the shop, straightening a display of robes.

"You're late, Draco," she warned.

"For what?" Draco replied, pointedly glancing around the empty shop. "You can handle no customers as well as anyone I've ever seen, Glenda." She shook her head, but her lips quirked up into a reluctant smile.

He busied himself with organizing some of the tailoring work that had recently come in, flicking his recently purchased wand at each pile in succession. It had been nearly a month since he'd started working here. After the coffee shop debacle, he'd spent a week flattering the ancient Madame Twilfitt and reminding her just how much money Mother had spent in the shop over the years. She'd finally relented and hired him on a trial basis, and after a week seemed to have forgotten that it was a trial.

His first paycheck had been enough for him to buy himself a new wand, and with the second he'd let a small studio flat above the apothecary in Diagon Alley, allowing him to finally move off of Goyle's sofa. He'd even talked Glenda into letting him borrow clothes form the shop, so had he something decent to wear, for the first time in months. Mother had come to visit him the weekend prior and finally conceded that he was doing well on his own. All in all, he was happier than he'd been in years.

The day proceeded like most others had done, with a bit of busy work here and there and a few customers poking about the shop every few hours. Fancy robes were not in high demand these days, but the shop managed to hobble along. There was a fitting for a bridegroom, a wizard Draco recognized as a Hufflepuff prefect from his first year at Hogwarts, and several older witches who came in to do little more than complain about the high prices.

He was in the back eating his lunch, a humble affair of stale bread and fruit, and when he heard the bell ring to call him to the front. Glenda was wrapping a shawl around herself, despite the warm weather. "I've got to go down and talk to the tailor about a special order. This young man is interested in being fitted for dress robes." She gestured to the other side of the store to where a dark-headed man was flipping through robes hanging on a display rack. Draco's stomach lurched in an all-too-familiar way. The man didn't even have to turn around -- he already knew it was Potter.

"Glenda, wait," he hissed, tugging her back by the elbow. "Can't you do this one? I was in the middle of lunch, and--"

Glenda's sharp glance cut him off. "As I said before, I'll return shortly. You're on your own until then." She nodded at Potter as she left, and the door's bell jingled behind her.

Potter turned then, and the look on his face was priceless: he'd obviously not realized Draco was there until that moment. His cheeks went a bit pink, and his eyes were wide. "I didn't know you worked here."

"Or you wouldn't have come?" Draco raised an eyebrow and gestured toward the fitting room at the back of the shop.

"Perhaps not," Potter replied. "I was nearly blown up the last time I ran into you like this." He almost-smiled, but Draco didn't find the comment amusing. Every time Potter came around, something happened to get him sacked. Merlin knew what it would be this time.

They entered the fitting room, a small semi-private area surrounded by mirrors. Draco picked up a tape measure as Potter stepped up onto the fitting platform, resolving himself to this task.

"I'll just… take this off, shall I?" Potter's hands fumbled with the buttons on his shirt, and before Draco had quite realized what was happening, Potter was stripping down to his underwear.

Draco started to tell him it wasn't necessary for him to remove any clothing at all, but the sight of Potter in nothing but pants, looking incredibly uncomfortable, was more enticing than he would have expected. Not that he was so much to look at -- Potter was too thin, too pale, almost wiry, but there was also an obvious strength to him. Though Draco would have never admitted it, the opportunity to get a close look at Potter's almost-naked body was one not to be missed.

He stood behind Potter, letting his eyes rake over the pale skin at the small of his back. He felt an overwhelming urge to lick up that spine, and felt himself go red. He fumbled for his wand and his tape measure, and was about to cast a measurement charm on the tape, but then he looked at Potter's hand. It was trembling, ever so slightly. Was Potter nervous?

Draco smirked and tucked his wand into his pocket. He could do this the slow way, and if it made Potter squirm, all the better. He touched the end of the tape measure to the back of Potter's neck, and then let his fingers trail down his back, down over the curve of his arse, tucking the tape under at the point where buttock meets thigh. He let his hand linger against Potter's arse a bit longer than necessary before stepping away to write the measurement down. He moved then to the shoulders, stepping onto the platform and leaning into Potter's back a bit, letting his hands glide across those surprisingly broad shoulders.

"When were you last properly fitted for robes?" He saw Potter start slightly as Draco's breath brushed the back of his neck.

"You were there," Potter replied, turning his head slightly. "At Madame Malkin's -- remember?"

"No," Draco lied. He slid his arms around Potter to measure his chest and then his waist. He felt Potter tense against him, almost as if he were holding his breath. Draco let the measuring tape drag over his nipples as he pulled it away, and Potter's breath caught.

Draco grinned as wrote the numbers on the form. This was going even better than he'd anticipated. He moved to stand in front of Potter and measured his arm length and then the girth of his hips, glancing up every so often to see that Potter was staring straight ahead with great concentration, as if he was trying to look anywhere but at Draco.

"Could you step apart a bit?"

 

Potter did, and Draco slid one hand up the inside of his thigh to touch the measuring tape to Potter's groin. He kept one hand there, knowing that the warmth pressing against the back of his hand was Potter's balls, and stretched the tape down to his ankle to measure the inseam.

Potter exhaled, a sound almost like a sigh, and then put a hand on Draco's shoulder. Draco looked up, but Potter's eyes were closed, his lips pressed into a thin line. Draco's face was very close to Potter's pants, just a layer of thin fabric away from his cock, which he would swear was creating a larger bulge than it had done when he'd first stolen a glance a few minutes ago. He swallowed.

"Sorry," Potter said, pulling his hand away and stepping down from the platform. "I lost my balance for a moment there. Is that all?" He finally looked at Draco then.

"Yes. You can get dressed now." He gestured at the pile of clothes.

Potter nodded, then stepped off the platform to pick up his things. "I've been meaning to send you an owl, actually. There's something I'd like to talk to you about."

Draco blinked at him. Potter was standing there in his underpants, half-erect, and suddenly he was all business. How did he manage that?

"What about?"

"Your wand. Your old one. I still have it."

Draco looked away. "I have a new one now. I don't need it." There was far too much baggage associated with that old wand, things he wasn't yet ready to deal with.

"But it was the first wand that chose you," Potter said, a note of surprise in his tone.

"And then it chose _you_. It's not mine any more. Get dressed, Potter." He left the fitting room at that, heading back up front to write up the measurements.

He was relieved when Glenda returned just in time to take over the order, and he returned to the back room under the guise of finishing his lunch. He wasn't hungry, though; he sat by the door and listened to their conversation, and was oddly disappointed when Potter didn't ask Glenda where he'd disappeared to.

The door jingled a few minutes later, and Potter was gone.

That night Draco gave in to his fantasies and pulled himself off to images of Potter standing on that stool, this time with no pants, his cock hard and dripping and jutting out from his body, his green eyes staring down as Draco took it in his mouth and sucked until Potter came.

He came into his own hand, and then stared up at the ceiling until well past midnight. He'd always had masturbation fantasies about Potter, though in years past they'd been of a decidedly different nature. And until today, he'd had no inkling that Potter might be interested in him as well.

He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes. He had imagined that part of it, he must have. If Harry Potter was gay, surely Draco would have heard about it by now. Not that it mattered. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were not friends, and despite various instances of life-saving and identity-denial in recent months, they never would be.

*****

"I'm what?"

"It's been quite slow, dear, and I did tell you this was a trial hire." Madame Twilfitt's expression was one of sympathy, but her narrow gray eyes were hard. "I'm terribly sorry, but we have to let you go."

Draco clenched his jaw and shook his head. "I need this job, Madame. Surely you know what it's like out there for former--" He caught himself just as her eyes widened. "For someone like me. I've done everything that was asked of me."

"Yes, and Glenda has nothing but good things to say about you. She'll be so sorry to see you go."

Draco was struggling not to let his frustration show. "She's old, and slow and forgetful. I can do twice the work she can. I know she makes a higher salary than I do. If you're really concerned about saving money, it would be wiser to keep me on instead."

Madame Twilfitt sniffed at that, and stood. "I'm terribly sorry, Mr. Malfoy, but that will be all. Your pay for the last week, plus a bit extra. Please give my regards to your mother." She held out a small bag.

Draco took it, and felt panic start to rise in his throat. The coins in his hand represented all the money he had, and now he was unemployed yet again. How was he going to pay his rent? How was he going to buy food? He'd just spent 20 galleons on an expensive haircut at his favorite salon the day before, a splurge that now seemed incredibly foolish. He'd expected to keep working in the shop, to keep going forward. Now he had to start all over again.

He left the shop and headed back to his flat, uncertain what he was going to do next. The small room already seemed like home, and the thought of having to leave it so soon was almost heartbreaking. He'd done so well these last few weeks, had come so far.

At least Madame hadn't asked for the borrowed clothes to be returned. Without them, he had nothing decent to wear.

*****

[FOUR]

"That's four butterbeers, two plates of chips, and what else?"

One of the girls gave him a sly grin and said, "What can you tell us about your bangers plate?"

Draco resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "What about it?"

The girl exchanged a glance with her friends, who started snickering. They couldn't be older than fourth-years. "How big are they, would you say?"

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Oh, quite big, actually. Too much for you, I'd wager. It's more of a man's plate, if you know what I mean." The girls burst into giggles at that, and Draco was pleased to see the one he'd been speaking with blush as she figured it out. "Just the chips, then." He turned away, and heard a burst of whispering behind him.

He realized he was attractive, but honestly -- had these girls no discretion at all? He'd only been out of school a few months himself, but he felt decades older than the students he saw in the Cracked Cauldron on Hogsmeade weekends. They had no cares, no worries other than upcoming exams and what to wear to the Halloween Ball that was being held in a month. His life had been nothing like that the last few years.

It should have been like that, though. It was still odd to see that the world had moved on, that students were back at Hogwarts, learning charms and potions as if there hadn't been a massive battle in the middle of the Great Hall, as if the walls of the school hadn't been nearly torn down or burnt to the ground. As if people hadn't died there.

He leaned against the bar and looked back at the girls, watching the way they laughed easily with each other and giggled over the pages of a copy of _Witch Weekly_. They weren't afraid. They were living their lives. It was as it should be.

"Did you tell them you take it up the arse, then?"

Draco gritted his teeth. Dex was the barman, and he was the worst thing about this job. He was a few years older than Draco, and was a scraggly-looking character. He was rumored to have worked as a Snatcher during the war, though he denied it. He despised Draco, and took every opportunity to make his life at work miserable.

"Yeah, and I even invited them to watch me bugger you in the alley."

Dex snarled at that, and for a moment Draco wondered if he was a werewolf. "Fucking queer. If you ever touch me, you'll be sorry."

Draco gave him an appraising look and then feigned a shudder of disgust. "Indeed I would be. Thanks for the reminder. Four butterbeers to that table."

He headed to the kitchen to plate the chips, swearing under his breath. The gastropub's owner, a rough-looking Romanian wizard named Klabek, was hard at work over the fire, managing a complex set of cooking spells. Large wooden spoons stirred the contents of half a dozen cauldrons, and the scent of cooking meat filled the small room.

"Dex is giving me trouble again," Draco said as he piled chips onto a large platter. "I don't know how much more of his shit I can take before I hex him, Klabek."

Klabek looked up from his cauldrons and grunted. He reminded Draco sharply of Mad-Eye Moody for a moment. "He's a git, all right, but he's a good barman. I said I'd give him a chance, just like I did you."

"You have a heart of gold," Draco said drily. "I'm serious about hexing him, you know. Maybe just a penis-shrinking charm."

Klabek grunted again. "Do it on your own time. No hexes in my place, Malfoy."

Draco carried the plate of chips out to the girls, who still had no butterbeer. Dex was at the other end of the bar, chatting up a witch who looked young enough to be at Hogwarts, so Draco pulled the butterbeers himself. He'd be damned if he was going to get a bad tip just because Dex wasn't doing his job.

He wasn't sure how Dex had figured out he was gay. He'd never told anyone, really -- not even Goyle, though he suspected his friend knew anyway. Dex had hurled insults at him from the first moment they met, and Draco never bothered to deny it. He wasn't sure if that meant he was "out" or not.

He delivered the butterbeers, and took a moment to comment on the dress robes advertisements the girls were examining in their magazine. He'd recently become a bit of an expert in formalwear, after all, and within a few minutes had riveted their attention with advice on which color each of them should wear. He was in the middle of arguing that pink was _so_ not in this year when one of the girls gasped and pointed in the direction of the door.

"It's him!" she squeaked, and they all turned their heads. "It's Harry Potter!"

Draco's stomach twisted as he turned to see Potter walking past the bar. Dex was tripping over himself to get Potter's attention, even offering him a free drink, but Potter made his way over to Draco instead.

Potter's appearance was a bad omen, but Draco was still oddly pleased to see him. Potter held out a hand and Draco shook it, and saw Dex glaring daggers over by the bar.

"I heard you were working here," Potter said. "I was over at Hogwarts today, and thought I'd stop by on my way out."

"I've been here about a month now. Pays the bills."

"Do you have time to talk?" Potter indicated a booth in a far corner, and Draco heard the girls at the table behind him whispering frantically.

He didn't technically have a break for another two hours, but hell -- he was probably about to get sacked anyway. What did it matter? He turned to the bar. "Oy, Dex, bring us a couple of pints." He followed Potter to the corner table, imagining the look of fury he knew was twisting Dex's face.

"I went back to Twillfit's to pick up my robes, and they said you didn't work there any more."

Draco shrugged. "It wasn't exactly what I'd always dreamed of doing with my life."

"And this is?"

"I always told myself that if the whole Death Eater thing didn't turn out, I'd rather like to serve mediocre food and drink in a complete dive like this."

Potter smiled. "You have time to figure it all out."

"Did you come here to give me career advice? I hate to disappoint, but I think it's fairly obvious I'm a hopeless case in that area."

Potter reached into his pocket and pulled out a wand, and set it on the table between them. "That's why I came."

Draco felt a stab of disappointment. He was getting used to being visited by Potter, and though he hated to admit it, he'd been hoping Potter had a more personal reason to find him. "Well, you've wasted your time. I told you I don't want it."

Potter's expression softened a bit. "It's your wand, Malfoy. Take it. Put it in a box, keep it as a backup, or burn it if you like, but it's _yours_. It belongs with you."

"The wizard that wand chose seven years ago doesn't exist any more." He paused, and then picked up the wand. It didn't feel right to him, not like it had before. He studied it for a moment, and then set it on the table again. He forced himself to look up at Potter. "I know you think you're doing the right thing here, but you don't know what…" He had to look away before he could continue. "What that wand represents to me."

They were silent for a moment, and then the tension was broken by two pints of ale nearly spilling their contents all over the table as they landed. Dex glared at Draco from the bar.

"What the hell was that about?" Potter asked, looking over at Dex.

"He hates me," Draco replied, in the same tone one would use to discuss the weather.

"That Dex Mulligan, isn't it? But he's -- or he was, rather, a Snatcher. He worked for--"

"My side, yes," Draco finished for him. "Let's just say he doesn't like me for another, more personal reason."

Potter's eyes narrowed as he watched Dex for a moment.

Draco took a long drink from his pint after inspecting it to make certain Dex hadn't spat in it. "So thank you for the wand, but no thanks. Though there is something I've been meaning to ask you."

Potter turned back to Draco picked up his own pint.

"Did you know about the Elder wand when you took this one from me that day?"

Potter took a long drink before answering. "No, I didn't. I worked all that out much later. Frankly, I just needed a wand, and you had a handful of them."

"And here all along I thought defeating me was part of your master plan."

"Dumb luck, actually. Most of my accomplishments have gone that way, I must admit."

"I've been saying that for years." They grinned at each other, and Draco felt an odd stirring in his belly, something he hadn't felt in a long time. "But why my wand, then? You took several from me that day, so if you didn't know mine was special, what made you choose it?"

"I don't know." Potter took another drink. "It just… felt good in my hand." His eyes flicked up to meet Draco's, and something about the tone of his voice and the look on his face sent a spark straight to Draco's groin. He felt his cock twitch and a rush of blood and _oh fuck_ he was getting an erection, sitting right there across the table from Harry Potter.

He picked up his pint glass and took a long drink, and felt a trickle of ale go down the wrong way, which left him sputtering. He was sure he'd turned bright red, but he couldn't leave the table, not in his current state.

"Well, that explains it," he managed, trying to suppress the urge to cough. He had no idea if Potter was flirting with him or was incredibly oblivious to his effect on Draco. As far as he knew, Harry Potter was straight. Sure, the day in the fitting room had been interesting, but Draco had assumed he'd just made Potter uncomfortable, not that Potter was actually interested. "I have to get back to work, actually."

Potter picked up Draco's old wand and tucked it back into his coat. "We should have a proper drink one of these nights, at a place where you don't work."

That would probably be this place, if things went as they usually did after a visit from Potter. "Next time you're in Hogsmeade, let me know."

Potter lingered a moment longer, as if trying to think of a reason not to go. Draco didn't offer him one; this weird offer of friendship-or-something-like-it was already a bit too much for one day. Draco didn't have friends. Well, he had Goyle, but Goyle hadn't left his parents' summer cottage in months, so he was hardly good company.

He was most definitely not going to let himself think there could be anything more than friendship between him and Potter. That would be inviting insanity, and he'd had enough close brushes with batshitcrazy to last him the rest of his life, thank you very much.

"I will," Potter said, sliding out of the booth. "Thanks for the pint." He smiled and left, and Draco watched the heads of the patrons turn as he passed. He seemed oblivious to the attention, but perhaps he was just used to it.

Draco took another moment to collect himself before heading back to the bar. People were staring at him now, and he wondered what they were thinking. Were they surprised at the sight of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter sharing a drink together?

Unfortunately, Dex didn't let Draco wonder what _he_ was thinking. "You two looked rather cozy, didn't you?"

"What's it to you, Dex?" Draco busied himself collecting bills for the tables he'd waited before Potter came in.

"I'd like to know if my coworker is getting buggered by Harry Potter, that's all."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Even if I were, it's none of your business, so bugger off."

"You stay away from me, _queer_." Dex moved closer, pointing a finger in Draco's face in a way he apparently thought was menacing.

"Oddly enough, that was exactly my plan, as you're not my type." Draco made a face and waved away Dex's rather powerful breath. "Not by a mile."

"What do you mean by that?" Dex snarled, looking affronted.

"Are you part-troll? You are a hideous, unpleasant, idiotic arse-hole, and I have NO interest in you. Is that clear?" Their voices were starting to attract the attention of the patrons. Draco tried to walk away, but Dex wouldn't let it go.

"You might as well hang a sign around your neck that says, _Queer_!"

"Only if you'll wear one that says _homophobic prick_ ," Draco called over his shoulder. Dex clearly had issues, and Draco wanted no part of it.

"Don't turn your back on me!"

Draco wasn't sure how he knew a wand had been pointed at him, but he whirled around and had his own wand out before he'd had time to think about it. They hurled curses at each other at the same time. Dex's hex missed him by several feet, but Draco's nose-breaking jinx hit its mark squarely, and a moment later Dex was on the floor, howling and covered in his own blood.

Draco stowed his wand and continued over to the table where the girls sat stunned, and handed them their bill. "I expect a good tip," he said, and they erupted in giggles. Several tables of patrons applauded, while others gathered their things and left. Dex was groaning on the floor behind the bar, still trying to stop his nose from bleeding.

"What the bloody hell was THAT?" The booming voice belonged to Klabek, who had emerged from the kitchen to stare in disbelief at the mess Dex had made on the floor.

"He hexed me," Dex blubbered.

"He hexed me first!" Draco retorted. But he could already see where this was going.

"You're both fired, then," Klabek barked, brandishing his own stubby wand. "No hexes in my place. OUT!"

"But sir," Dex began, sounding incredibly pathetic.

Draco didn't bother arguing. He _accio'd_ his things from the back and headed for the door. He wasn't disappointed, or even worried this time. In fact, he felt a bit giddy.

He was barely ten yards down the pavement when he heard a familiar voice call his name. He turned to see McGonagall standing there, her lips quirked into an expression of amusement.

"Headmistress," he said in greeting.

"I was in the Cracked Cauldron just now." She raised an eyebrow.

Draco shrugged. "I'm not sorry I hexed him. He deserved it."

"I'm not going to chastise you for your actions, Mr. Malfoy. On the contrary, I have a proposition for you. Walk back to Hogwarts with me, and we can discuss it."

Draco smiled, then wrapped his cloak more tightly around himself and joined her.

*****

[FIVE]

"Now, now, class, settle down. Stand by your cauldrons and-- Miss Connelly, do NOT set Miss Hawkins' hair on fire again!"

Draco looked up from his position at the back of the potions classroom. Professor McMartin looked as frazzled as he sounded, pacing back and forth behind the desk at the front of the classroom of second-year students. The man was not cut out to be a teacher, and it was a sign of how desperate Hogwarts was that he was hired at all. Of course, that was precisely why McGonagall had hired Draco to help him.

McMartin turned his back to the students yet again to drone on at the board about the steps of creating Essence of Licium, and the students immediately busied themselves with various forms of mischief. Esmerelda Connelly raised her wand to point it at the braided pigtails of the girl in right in front of her once again, and Draco pointed his wand at the back of her head and cast a thumping jinx. She nearly fell into her cauldron from the impact, and turned around to glare at Draco. He shook his head sternly, and she rolled her eyes as she turned back to the front.

She didn't make a move out of line for the rest of the lesson, and neither did anyone else, though she and her friends gave Draco rather nasty looks on their way out of the classroom. They were annoying little shits, for the most part. He wondered how Snape had managed not to kill any of them in the fifteen-odd years he was a professor.

He'd been forced to use the _cruciatus_ curse on some of these very students the year before, and though it probably wielded him a certain amount of disciplinary leverage, it hardly engendered anything resembling respect for him. He wasn't a teacher, and he was no longer a student. He'd existed in an odd sort of limbo for the last two weeks. And somehow he was still faring better than Professor McMartin.

 

McMartin collapsed behind his desk once the students had all filed out, looking as if he were about to have a nervous breakdown. Draco gave him until Christmas break, at the most.

"Shall I gather supplies for the fourth-year lesson?" he asked, casting a quick cleaning charm under several of the cauldron stations.

"Yes, please," McMartin replied, his voice quavering a bit. "I'm just going to rest for a moment." He put his head down on the desk and made a sound almost like a sob.

It was an hour before the next lesson, and Draco decided he could use a strong cup of tea first. He headed up to the staff lounge, dodging groups of students and ignoring the looks of disdain from the Gryffindors. Two Slytherin girls giggled at him as he passed, and he recognized them as two of the four from his last day at the Cracked Cauldron. He winked at them, earning another round of giggles, and kept walking.

The staff lounge was sparsely decorated, but well-appointed for its purpose. It was empty at the moment, which was a relief. Draco poured himself a cup from the teapot and settled onto a sofa with a copy of the _Daily Prophet_.

"Here you are, Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall swept into the room, heading to the teapot as well. She poured herself a cup and sat next to Draco on the sofa. "I have a favor to ask of you."

Draco suppressed a groan. The last time McGonagall had asked him for a favor, he had to teach Charms to first-years. It had taken him all evening to grow his eyebrows back.

McGonagall gave him a knowing look. "Don't worry, I won't be asking you to teach a lesson again anytime soon. I need another chaperone for the Halloween Ball on Saturday evening."

Draco laughed. "You want _me_ to be a chaperone? Are you joking?"

"I recognize a certain amount of irony in the request, yes. But I am desperate, and you are technically an adult on the staff."

"What am I supposed to do, exactly?"

"Keep them from doing all the things you got away with, of course." She winked at him.

*****

The owl found him as he was relaxing in his room. One of the few perks of working at Hogwarts was the free room and board, and though it had pained him to let go of his flat in Diagon Alley, Draco did appreciate not having to worry about paying rent, for once. He was stretched out on the bed, contemplating jerking off, when an owl started pecking at the room's tiny window. He opened it and took the proffered note, and settled back onto his bed to read it.

_Draco,_

_I heard you ended your employment at the Cracked Cauldron in great style. I'm sorry I missed it. McGonagall said you were working as a teaching assistant for Potions now. Have you had to _crucio_ any of the little shits yet?_

I still want to buy you a proper drink. What are your plans for Halloween night?

Harry

He read the note three times, uncertain what to make of it. Was Potter asking him on a date? Surely not. But wouldn't the hero of the Wizarding World have something better to do on a holiday than hang out with Draco?

That was all beside the point, of course, as he'd already told McGonagall he would chaperone the Ball. There was a pecking at the window again; the owl had apparently been instructed to wait for a reply. He dug up a quill and a scrap of parchment.

_Harry,_

_I've been persuaded by McGonagall to chaperone the Halloween Ball, unfortunately. Though I'm sure I'll need a stiff drink afterward, all the pubs will have closed. Perhaps another time?_

_Draco_

He hesitated for a moment, reading the note a few times to make sure it had the proper balance of interest and cool indifference, before handing it to the owl to take away again.

He stayed awake as long as he could manage, but Potter's owl didn't return.

*****

By the night of the Halloween Ball, Draco was sorry he'd ever agreed to chaperone the damn thing. The students who were old enough to attend had talked of nothing else for the entire week prior, and he'd been forced to spend much of his free time in the evenings supervising detentions for giggly girls. He'd advised dozens of students on their Ball attire, counseled a handful of distraught Slytherins about their romantic troubles, and changed his mind four times about what he was going to wear.

Finally dressed, he walked down to the Great Hall to help with final preparations. He was assigned to the main entrance to ensure no students below the fourth year got in, which turned out to be a far more enjoyable task than he would have imagined. Once the Ball was underway, he walked the perimeter, ferreting out pairs of overly-romantic students and confiscating vials of questionable substances. It grew incredibly boring after the first hour, though, and by ten o'clock he was starting to consider sneaking away.

"Hi, Mr. Malfoy!" He turned to see the usual gang of Slytherin girls standing nearby, giggling at him.

"Ladies," he said, bowing slightly, which elicited another round of giggles.

Time to make his escape. He headed out of the doors into the main corridor, and leaned back against a wall. He'd hated these things when he was a student. How had he let himself get roped into attending one as staff?

He heard a fluttering sound above his head, and looked up to see a small paper bird circling him. He watched it for a moment, and then reached up to pluck it from the air. It went still at his touch, and he unfolded it to see a familiar scrawl.

_Still need that drink?_

He smiled, and the paper rose out of his hands, refolded itself into its bird-like shape, and flittered away. It paused when it was a few feet away from him and turned back, bobbing in the air. He followed, and it began to fly away again, leading him down several corridors, a flight of stairs, and ultimately to door of the Potions classroom.

He pushed it open and stepped inside. The room was dark except for a single candle suspended in the air over the desk at the front. Behind that desk sat Harry Potter, a bottle of firewhisky in his hand.

Draco walked down through the student desks to the front, took the bottle out of Potter's hand, and took a long swig.

"The answer is _yes_ ," he said, handing the bottle back, and Potter grinned.

"I thought you'd probably need a break by now."

"How did you get in here?" Draco asked, leaning against the desk.

"I have a wand, you know. It wasn't that difficult." He took another long draw on the bottle and offered it to Draco again. "I think the locking spells are only intended to keep the students out."

"I suppose." He held the bottle up to the candlelight and was surprised to see it was nearly half-empty. "Are you drunk?"

"Maybe a little."

Draco took another swig and then summoned a chair to slide over next to him. He settled into it and propped his feet up on the desk. "It's Halloween night, Potter. Why are you spending it drinking alone?"

"I'm not alone now."

"You know what I mean. Didn't you have parties to go to tonight, friends desperate to hang on your every word?" He paused, picking at the label of the bottle. "A girlfriend to keep you warm?"

Potter laughed. "I suppose that's how it ought to be. But no, I have none of those things." He held his hand out for the bottle, and Draco handed it to him. "Especially not the last one."

"It didn't work out with Ginny Weasley?"

"No," Potter replied, in a tone that indicated he wasn't going to discuss the topic further. "What about you? Don't you have better things to do on Halloween than chaperone a school dance?"

Draco snorted. "If I did, don't you think I'd be doing them?"

They were silent for a moment. Potter looked around the room and sighed. "Is it strange to be a teacher in this room?"

"Teaching assistant," Draco corrected. "Some of my best memories are in this room."

"I have very few good memories of this place."

"Then why did you ask me to meet you here?"

Potter stood, stretching, and circled the desk. He leaned against it next to where Draco was sitting, his thigh pressing against Draco's foot. "There are other rooms with worse memories."

Draco nodded. He hadn't yet been able to walk down the corridor where the entrance of the Room of Requirement was, nor had he been able to eat a meal in the Great Hall. He looked up to see that Potter was staring at him, his expression unreadable. Potter held out a hand.

"It's on the desk," Draco said, pointing at the bottle.

Potter shook his head, still holding out his hand. Draco's stomach fluttered, but he took Potter's hand and let himself be pulled to his feet. Potter pulled him closer, so close that Draco was standing between his knees. Potter stared at him for a long moment.

"What?" Draco asked at last.

"Promise me you won't hex me for this," Potter whispered, his green eyes wide in the dim light. He tugged Draco even closer.

"I won't," Draco whispered in reply. They were so close together he could feel the heat of Potter's body, could feel Potter trembling. Perhaps it was the firewhisky, but Draco wasn't nervous. He leaned forward, and then Potter closed the gap between them and pressed his mouth against Draco's.

It was a long, delicious kiss, the sort Draco had only dreamed about. Potter's mouth was hot and soft and wet, and his lips moved against Draco's slowly.

It was a good minute before they came up for air, both of them panting.

"Definitely gay, then," Potter said, and Draco laughed.

"You weren't sure?"

"I am now," Potter replied, and kissed him again, this time sliding one hand around the back of Draco's head.

Draco's hands went to Potter's shoulders, then down his sides to his hips, and he pulled Potter forward on the desk until their groins were pressed together. Potter whimpered at the contact, and Draco realized Potter's cock was rock hard under his trousers. He tugged Potter's knees up and pressed him down against the desk, grinding his own erection against Potter's. Potter's hands dug into his back, and Draco broke the kiss long enough to shed the coat he was wearing.

Potter was on his back on the table, his legs wrapped around Draco's thighs, his cock straining against his trousers. He stared up at Draco with wild eyes, and before Draco could remove any more clothing, Potter pulled him back down again, crushing their mouths together.

He was reduced to rutting against Potter; all he could feel was hands, and friction and a wet tongue sliding against his own and stubble grinding into his chin, and the steady swell of sensation in his balls that meant he was going to come.

Potter was groaning now, and one hand was digging into Draco's arse, encouraging him to move faster. He couldn't think any more, couldn't hear anything but the sound of Potter's groans and of their breathing and the sound of fabric rubbing on fabric, and then he came, mouth open against Potter's, and crying out, overcome. Potter kept moving against him, and then he was coming too, hissing a stream of Muggle curse words and clenching Draco's hips so hard it hurt.

"Oh, fucking hell," Potter said, dropping his arms back against the desk. "Oh, god."

Draco pushed himself to his feet, still trembling. His pants were sticky-wet now, but he didn't care. There was probably a spell for that, and once enough blood had returned to his brain he'd think of it. For now it was difficult enough to process what had just happened, and with whom.

Potter opened his eyes and grinned at Draco, and then propped himself up on his elbows. "There's a fantasy I can check off the list."

"What?"

"Sex on Snape's desk. You can't tell me you've never thought about it."

Draco blinked at him. "Are you sure you weren't supposed to be in Slytherin?"

Potter shrugged and sat up, running a hand through his hair in a vain attempt to calm it down. He looked so thoroughly debauched that it made Draco's mouth water.

"Of course I've thought about it," he replied, trying not to grin like an idiot. "Who hasn't?"

Potter grabbed a handful of Draco's shirt and pulled him in for another kiss, and it hit Draco then -- this had been his first real kiss, his first sexual encounter, his first time with a man. And it was with Harry Potter.

Father would explode on the spot if he found out.

"I should probably get back to the Ball," he whispered against Potter's lips.

"It's almost midnight. Why bother?" Potter's mouth made its way down Draco's neck, nibbling and sending little shivers of sensation through him. Though he hadn't been with another man before, this was definitely not Potter's first time.

There was a loud clanging sound, like dozens of cauldrons being turned over, and they jumped apart.

A screeching, sing-songy voice filled the room: "Potter and Malfoy, naughty as can be, F-U-C-K-I-"

"Peeves!" Potter shouted, and sent a hex flying in the direction of the voice.

Peeves' squealed in pain, and then popped out from behind a column to leer at them. "Naughty, naughty boys! But why pick on me? I wasn't the only one watching!"

Draco hexed Peeves again for good measure, sending him barreling around the classroom. "Who else is in here? Show yourself!"

There was no response, no sound other than Peeves' maniacal laughter fading into the distance as he zipped away, leaving them standing alone in the dim light.

"Why didn't I lock the door behind me when I came in?" Draco groaned, pressing his hands to his face. Those Slytherin girls had been watching him before he left the Ball, and they could easily have followed him down here, snuck into the room, and watched everything. It wouldn't take long for that little bit of news to spread around the school, and since Potter was involved, to make the papers. Or worse, get back to his parents, and he wasn't ready for them to find out he was gay -- not yet.

"Peeves is full of it," Potter said, picking up the firewhisky bottle again. "Don't worry about it."

"That's easy for you to say," Draco retorted, whirling to face him. "You're not the one who's about to get sacked for this."

Potter almost laughed. "You're not going to get sacked."

"Yes, I am. In case you haven't noticed, I always get sacked when you show up. This is the fifth job I've had in five months, and every single time I'm let go within a day of running into you."

"Are you saying it's _my_ fault that you keep getting sacked?"

Draco rolled his eyes. "Yes, of course. It’s a big conspiracy, and I blame you entirely. Don't you even care that Peeves is probably at the moment telling the entire school that we were making out on Snape's desk?"

"Not particularly, no. It's not a big deal."

Draco stared at him for a moment, not sure why that comment had stung so much. "It is to me."

Potter looked away. "I didn't mean it like that."

"Yes, you did. And I don't blame you. You could _crucio_ puppies at this point and no one would care. But some of us have to figure out how to survive in this new world you've made possible, and it's not so fucking easy."

He expected Potter to argue with him, but he didn't. He just sat there, holding the firewhiskey bottle and listening. He looked thoughtful, even. It was maddening.

"I should go pack," Draco said. "Thanks for the drink, and for the…" He gestured at the desk, not exactly sure what to label what had happened between them. "I'll see you around."

He left the classroom, half-hoping Potter would try to stop him, or at least say something, but he remained silent. Draco didn't look back.

*****

To Draco's surprise, there was no howler from McGonagall the next morning. It was Sunday, and he decided to visit his parents. Perhaps an afternoon spent with them would soften the blow of any unsavory news they might get soon.

Mother was happy to see him, and prepared a lavish tea. She had recently taken a position in a trinket shop in Diagon Alley, and she and Father at least had food now. Father sat behind his paper the entire time, and did little more than nod at Draco in greeting.

"Can you help me with something , darling?" she asked as they were finishing tea, and he followed her up the long winding staircase and into an old disused room, where boxes were piled all around.

"What is this?"

"Every piece of clothing you've ever worn, all of my dresses, your father's old robes. I'm going to sell it all." She sighed and turned back to him. "Don't tell your father. He doesn't know."

"You need the money?"

She nodded. "And honestly, these clothes aren't doing us any good just sitting here. Your father will never fit into these again." She indicated a box that looked rather dusty.

Draco smiled, and opened the box closest to him. It was full of tiny clothes, and it was a moment before he realized they were his. He pulled out a tiny gown that had once been white, and held it to his chest. "Did this really fit me once?"

Mother didn't answer, and he looked up to see that her eyes were filled with tears.

He felt terrible instantly -- he was making light of their situation, and he shouldn't. She had always been financially secure, had never wanted for anything, and here she was selling her own possessions to put food on the table.

She reached out and took the little gown from him, and caressed the fabric with her fingers. A tear fell onto one sleeve, and she wiped it away, then looked back up at him.

"I'm sorry, Mother," he said, stepping closer and touching her arm. "I didn't mean to be insensitive."

She smiled and wiped her eyes. "I suppose I'm not ready to part with this one quite yet." She looked at it again, and he could see her struggling not to cry. "You were such a precious baby, so happy, so beautiful. I wanted to have another, and so I kept everything, all of your toys, all of your clothes. But…" She put a hand over her mouth and clutched the tiny gown to her cheek.

Draco took her in his arms pulled her close, and she pressed her face into his chest. He could feel the dampness of her tears through his shirt, could feel her shoulders shaking. He looked past her at the stack of boxes and saw that most of them were carefully labeled with his name. He felt his own emotions rising, and he closed his eyes.

"I know," he whispered. "But you have me, Mother, and you always will. You don't need all of this."

She lifted her head and wiped her eyes, nodding. "I know. And since it's highly unlikely I will ever be a grandmother, there's no point in keeping it any longer."

He blinked at her, uncertain what to say.

She wiped away a single tear that had spilled onto his cheek, and smiled. "You are my son, and I love you. Do you think I don't know you? That I don't see who catches your eye, and who does not?"

"Mother--"

"Your father will have a difficult time accepting it, but he'll come around. He loves you, though he doesn't often show it."

Draco pulled her against him again, overcome. He nodded, and buried his face in her hair.

*****

At the beginning of the first Potions lesson on Monday morning, he knew it was all over. The fifth year combined Ravenclaw and Gryffindor students snickered at him as they came in, and kept looking back over their shoulders at him during the lecture.

He endured a few catcalls as he walked to the staff lounge afterwards, and by the time McGonagall found him, he was resigned to his fate.

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "Come with me, Mr. Malfoy."

He followed her to her office, a place that reminded him sharply of Snape, and sat in the chair across from her desk. The portraits of the headmasters were mostly empty this morning, to his relief.

She settled behind her desk and sighed.

"I know, I know," he said, blushing furiously. "It was stupid and irresponsible, and, well -- it was _Potter_ , so that alone was going to get me sacked. So just get it over with, and I'll be on my way."

McGonagall's eyebrows rose so high he thought they might disappear into her hat. "So the rumors are true?"

Draco blinked at her, and suddenly felt rather foolish. "Rumors?"

"It's all over the school that you and Harry Potter had some sort of romantic _liaison_ in the Potions classroom on the night of the Ball. I would have bet ten galleons that it wasn't true."

Draco rubbed at his forehead with one hand. If he'd only kept his mouth shut…

"Well," she continued, "this is a bit of a surprise. I was going to ask you how you wanted me to handle the rumors."

"I'm sorry, Headmistress."

"This does change things, I'm afraid. Such behavior is not tolerated among the faculty and staff. This is Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, not a brothel." Draco choked back a laugh, and she shook her head. "And don't think that I'm prejudiced, either. Albus Dumbledore was one of my closest friends."

Draco glanced up at Dumbledore's portrait in confusion, but there was no one there.

"And lest you think yourself so terribly clever, Mr. Malfoy, you're hardly the first to use that classroom for such a purpose. That desk has seen quite a few students suspended and faculty fired. I'll never understand why one piece of furniture inspires such debauchery." She sniffed. "Dumbledore even had it thoroughly checked for traces of a powerful love potion several years ago, to no end."

Draco shook his head, certain he'd just learned far more about his former teachers than he'd ever wanted to know.

"However, under the circumstances, perhaps it would be best for you to take a leave for the remainder of the term. If you wish to return after Christmas--"

"No, thank you," Draco said. "I appreciate the offer, but I think my days at Hogwarts are done."

McGonagall nodded. "Well, then, best of luck to you, Mr. Malfoy. And I do wish you and Potter well."

Draco forced a smile. He wasn't going to tell her he'd just blown the chance she'd given him on a one-night-stand.

*****

**[AND ONE…]**

"I'd like two small pumpkin chai lattes. And don't skimp on the pumpkin this time."

Maya smirked at Draco from behind the counter. "You're supposed to pay for the extra pumpkin, you know."

"It's too expensive as it is," Draco retorted, counting out sickles and knuts. "I don't know why I spend my hard-earned gold in this place every day."

"You come to see me, admit it," she replied, winking at him.

He left with cups of chai a few minutes later, pulling his robe more tightly around him in the chilly morning air. His little flat had been cold this morning; he'd only moved back in a week ago and hadn't yet got around to casting all the proper heating charms.

He turned off of the main street and down an alley toward the offices of _Witch Weekly_. He raised one cup in greeting at the witch sitting at the front desk and then climbed the stairs to the office of Marjorie Glittendon, the editor he worked for.

"Draco, you're late," she said as he walked in. "I hope you picked up one of those for me."

"Of course." He set the cup on her desk, and she picked it up and took a drink without even glancing up at him. She reminded him of a caricature of his mother, tall and thin and elegant, but the details of her appearance were a bit exaggerated -- a bustline enhancement spell, an incredibly intricate upswept hairdo, a bit too much sparkle on her clothing, and utterly perfect makeup. She was curious to look at, and a force to be reckoned with.

"I have some research for you to check over today, and an article I want you to try your hand at editing."

"Editing?" He'd worked for Marjorie for almost over two weeks now, and had never been asked to do anything more than file papers and check facts.

She peered at him over her jeweled hornrim glasses. "I promised Minerva I'd give you a chance. Don't fuck it up."

'You know I will," he replied with a laugh.

He worked through the stacks of papers on his desk, sorting them into piles according to who needed to be called and what documents needed to be looked up. By early afternoon he'd made considerable progress, and when Marjorie came to sit on the edge of his desk with a scroll of parchment in hand, he was ready.

"What's it about?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Harry Potter," she said, dropping the scroll on his desk. It made a surprisingly heavy sound when it landed. "You know him fairly well, don't you?"

An image of Potter writhing under Draco on the desk in the Potions classroom, coming as Draco ground against him, flashed across his mind. "Not particularly."

"Rumor has it that you two are close." She raised an eyebrow. "You know what our lifestyle readers want, Draco. I want you to whip this article into shape, and make it something they want to read." She stood to walk away.

"Do you want it to be accurate?" he called after her. It wasn't beneath the _Weekly_ to stretch the truth a bit.

She turned back to him. "Ideally, yes. But considering that Potter hasn't given a single interview since he defeated He Who Must Not Be Named, all we have to go on is information from people who know him." She paused, as if considering him for a moment, and then smiled sweetly. "Like you, for instance. You could probably add all sorts of interesting details about what Potter's been up to in the last few months."

Draco ignored the innuendo in her tone and picked up the scroll. "Let's be clear, then. You're offering me a chance to advance my career here if I can give you information on Potter that isn't publicly known."

Her smile tightened, as if she'd just swallowed a bug. "What the public really wants is to hear from Potter himself, and the paper that gets that interview will make a tremendous amount of gold. If you could get him to agree to an interview, perhaps as a personal favor -- I could guarantee you a lovely pay rise." She pulled her heavy robe off of a hook near her desk and wrapped it around her. The extra layer of clothing dampened the effect of her outrageous clothing, instantly making her seem much more reasonable. "I'm off to a meeting for the rest of the day. I'll look forward to seeing what you have for me in the morning."

She left him alone in the office then, and he unrolled the scroll. The article was titled _Harry Potter: His Life After the War_. That needed work, for certain, but he'd come back to it later. Whoever had written it started with the standard story of Potter's early life that everyone knew, then went on to a brief summary of the events of the day the Dark Lord was destroyed. He skimmed that part, as he was more interested in recent events.

The article noted that Potter had joined the Ministry's Auror training corps as part of a group whose N.E.W.T. requirements were waived in consideration of the events of the previous year. He had apparently become an outstanding junior Auror with a bright future, blah, blah, blah.

Draco paused to take a sip of his chai, then cast a reheating charm on it before taking another sip. Even with everything that had happened between them, Draco hadn't known what Potter did for a living. He hadn't even bothered to ask.

He skimmed down the page to _Personal Life_.

_Though Potter has been linked with several women in his young life, including his longtime friend Hermione Granger, the woman he seems destined to marry is Ginny Weasley, the sister of fellow war hero Ronald Weasley. The couple are rather private, and have not been seen in public together in months, but a family friend informs our readers that a spectacular wedding may be in the works._

Draco smirked, and scribbled _not bloody likely_ in the margin.

The article then went on about Ginny and her budding Quidditch career, and Draco set it aside. It was a piece of crap, basically. Marjorie was not interested in advancing Draco so much as she was in getting the scoop on Potter. Recommendation from McGonagall or no, she had likely hired Draco with that in mind. For all he knew, she had written the article herself.

He pushed away from his desk and rubbed at his temples with his fingers. Two months ago, he would have dished on Potter in a heartbeat, and would have not felt a bit guilty. He would have done anything for that raise, anything to get a little bit ahead on his rent, to have the money to buy himself a nice robe. But things weren't so simple now, and it wasn't just about Potter or Draco.

And at the end of the day, this was just another job, just another place that was temporarily making it possible for him to pay his rent. Why should he risk losing his --- he didn't know if he should call it a friendship or a relationship -- with Potter just for a slightly less annoying job and a bit more gold? He was as ambitious as the next Slytherin, but he was also lonely, and alienating the one man who'd showed romantic interest in him in, well, _ever_ , seemed like a poor plan of action.

Still, it wouldn't hurt to ask Potter if he would give the _Weekly_ an interview. He might even consider it, which could only help Draco. And if he refused, well -- it wouldn't be the first time Draco had been fired because of Potter. If he got a shag out of it, he'd call it even.

He stashed the scroll in a drawer and gathered his own robe. The Auror offices were in the Ministry's main complex, and as he had to stop by the records office anyway, he might as well pop in on Potter. The thought of seeing Potter's face being caught offguard by _him_ for a change gave him a little thrill.

It was a short apparition jump to the Ministry, and then a long walk through the corridors to where Draco remembered the Auror department was housed, from his first job months ago as Owl Boy. He checked the directory posted outside the main door, and found Potter's office listed there.

The door was open, and so he walked in without knocking. Half a dozen desks lined the walls of the office, all of them piled high with books and stacks of paper. There were a group of people hunched over a table in the center, apparently deep in discussion. Potter was among them, but so was Ron Weasley, and a few other boys he recognized from Hogwarts -- none of whom he'd ever got on with.

He really should have sent an owl instead. He took a step backwards, but one of the men looked up from the table and saw him, and his eyes narrowed. They all turned to look at him then with expressions varying from suspicion to surprise.

Potter looked up last, and Draco at least got the pleasure of seeing him look genuinely shocked. His cheeks went a bit pink, and he was the only one to speak. "Malfoy. Hi."

Draco took a calming breath and attempted a smile. "Can I have a quick word?"

Potter ran a hand through his hair, something Draco was starting to realize he did when he was nervous. "Yes, of course." Potter crossed the room to him, and Draco saw the others exchange glances.

"Is there somewhere we could talk privately?" he whispered when Potter reached him, and Potter blushed even more.

"Let's see… We can step out into the corridor." It was quite busy with people, though, all of whom seemed especially interested in the fact that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were having a whispered conversation.

"Isn't there someplace a bit _quieter_?" Draco hoped he'd communicated what he really meant through his tone of voice.

Potter glanced up and down the corridor, and motioned for Draco to follow him. He opened the door to a small toilet, and gestured Draco inside.

When the door was closed (and locked, Draco noted) behind them, they were silent for a moment. Potter just stared at Draco, still visibly affected by his sudden appearance at the Ministry. Draco felt a bit of triumph at that, but he also found the sight of Potter so unsettled incredibly hot.

"I hadn't heard from you in a while," he said at last. "I decided to come looking for you first this time."

Potter did that nervous thing with his hand in his hair again. "I heard you left Hogwarts. I'm sorry I got you into trouble."

"I'm not," Draco replied, grinning, and Potter's expression relaxed. "I hated being there, and it was time to go. And I had fun… that night."

Potter smiled and leaned back against the door. "I heard you're working at _Witch Weekly_ now. I would've come by, but I didn't want to get you sacked again."

"Just as well. They'd eat you alive if you set a foot in that building."

Potter's smile widened, and Draco felt a fluttering in his stomach. Merlin, he wanted to kiss that mouth.

"You still owe me a proper drink, you know." He stepped closer to Potter and leaned in, resting one hand on the wall next to him.

"So I do. What are you doing tonight?"

"Nothing yet. Want to come over to mine when you get off here?" He smiled in a way he hoped was alluring.

Potter's eyes went dark, and his voice lowered a bit. "I usually go to a pub with some of the blokes here, but I can beg off tonight." The tension in the small room was almost palpable now. Potter reached out and grasped a handful of Draco's shirt, and tugged him closer. Draco leaned in, already feeling a twitch of interest in his groin.

There was a knock on the door just then, and they jumped apart. Draco shook his head, hoping to clear it. This was neither the time nor the place, but his dick didn't seem to care. It was almost bizarre the effect proximity to Potter had on him.

"I'm in flat 4C, above the apothecary in Diagon Alley," he whispered as Potter unlocked the door. "I'll be home around 5:00. Come over whenever you like."

*****

The knock at the door startled Draco, even though he'd been expecting it. He hadn't gone back to the office after visiting the Ministry, but had stopped by a market to buy a bottle of wine and some food, and then had headed home to have a shower and straighten up a bit. Deciding what to wear had nearly done him in, but he'd finally settled on a black shirt and grey trousers, and hoped he didn't look like he'd tried too hard.

He took a deep breath before opening the door, and his nervousness changed to another emotion altogether when he saw Potter standing on the other side. He'd obviously gone home and changed clothes since Draco saw him last, and he looked like he'd shaved as well.

"Come in," Draco said, and was pleased when Potter immediately shed his winter robe and draped it over a chair. Though going out for a drink was a possibility, he'd certainly hoped they'd stay in. "Wine?"

"Thanks," Potter replied, glancing around the small flat. "This is cozy. How long have you been here?"

Draco pointed his wand at the wine bottle and the cork popped up into the air. The bottle poured its contents into two waiting glasses, and Draco directed one to each of their hands. "Off and on, about three months." It seemed a lot longer than that.

Potter took a sip of wine. "I've been thinking of getting myself a flat. I'm living in my Godfather's old house at the moment, but it's not exactly homey."

"The Black Family house? I've never been there. Knowing my grandmother, I can imagine it's a bit bleak."

"To say the least," Potter replied, and smiled at him.

That smile sent a wave of wanting through Draco, and he had to lean back against the kitchen counter. He'd never thought of Potter as particularly attractive when they'd been in school together, but the sight of him standing there in the middle of Draco's flat, fashionable t-shirt stretched across his chest, black trousers hanging off of his hips, and his perpetually unruly dark hair looking almost artfully disarranged -- it all summed up to _hot_. And completely _fuckable_.

Potter's expression changed, and Draco realized he'd been staring for half a minute. Potter sat on the arm of Draco's shabby sofa, and the look on his face was definitely one of invitation.

Draco took a long drink from his wine glass, set it on the counter behind him, and took the three steps to the sofa. He took Potter's glass from his hand and set it aside, and then pulled him to his feet so quickly that their bodies collided. Potter's hands went to Draco's face immediately, pulling him in for a kiss.

"I've been thinking about this all day," Draco whispered just before their lips met. It had been all he could do not to wank himself into oblivion in the shower that afternoon. He'd been hoping Potter had the same plan for the evening as he did.

"Mmmmph," was all Potter said in reply, and he pulled Draco against him so hard that they both fell over the arm of the sofa and back onto the cushions. After that everything was a blur of hands and tongues and groans, and Potter was there beneath him on the sofa, _his_ sofa, where no one would walk in on them or judge them or sack him, and they could do whatever they wanted. He couldn't remember ever feeling so free in his life. It was glorious.

His cock was rock-hard, and he felt Potter grinding against his thigh -- but this time they would do it properly. He wriggled a hand between them and managed to unfasten Potter's trousers, and then his own. Potter helped by pushing his own trousers and pants off, and then Draco felt a hand that was not his own wrap around his prick for this first time. He gasped at the sensation, different from his own hand, and oddly unexpected. He'd been so focused on what he wanted to do to Potter that he'd forgotten that Potter would likely reciprocate.

"I've been thinking about your cock in my mouth all day," Potter said, and slid off the couch. Before Draco had processed the words, Potter was on his knees on the floor between Draco's thighs.

"Shit," Draco whispered, and then Potter licked a stripe up the underside of his cock. Draco's head fell back against the sofa cushions -- if he watched this, he wouldn't last a minute. Potter licked a few more times, and then the head of his cock was enveloped in wet warmth.

The boys in school had always talked about getting head and how amazing it was. Draco had listened for tips on what blokes liked as much as what it might feel like to have his prick in someone else's mouth. They had never talked about this feeling of complete abandonment that washed over him now, or the way a swirling tongue and brush of teeth could make one's body go limp with pleasure.

Potter's tongue was working the head of his prick, probing under the foreskin and then sucking on it lightly, and Draco's eyes rolled back in his head. How Potter had got so good at this was a mystery, and one he'd contemplate later. For now his universe had shrunk to a hand stroking at the base of his cock, and another on his bollocks, and that tongue was swirling and licking and probing, and teeth and suction -- he felt like he was floating, and then he came much too quickly, arching up into Potter's mouth, his hands roughly clasped against Potter's head keeping that mouth right _there_. He was vaguely aware that he was groaning as he came, but he didn't care. He couldn't control it anyway.

"I hope you have silencing spells up," Potter said a moment later.

"Ha. I haven't even put up heating spells. My neighbors just learned a lot more about me than they ever wanted to know."

Potter was still on the floor, and he rested his forehead against Draco's thigh. Draco opened his eyes and realized Potter was wanking.

"Oh, no you don't," he said, sliding off the sofa and onto the floor. "At least let me touch you." He found Potter's cock and stroked, sliding the foreskin against the head in the way he liked it when he wanked.

"God," Potter groaned, his eyes closing and his head rolling back onto the sofa. Draco stroked fast, alternately watching Potter's face contort and his prick disappear into Draco's fist. Draco leaned in to kiss him, though it was more of a tongue-tangling snog than a kiss. Potter's hands clenched Draco's shirt, and Draco felt his prick get even harder in his fingers. A moment later Potter was crying out into Draco's mouth, arching his back and bucking his hips. Draco sat back to watch him come, amazed at the very idea that he had done this. He'd fantasized about Potter for years, and somehow he'd never spent much time imagining this particular moment. It had always been about putting Potter in his place, about seeing his enemy humiliated, and getting off on that. He'd been a child, though, and he hadn't understood the first thing about sex.

"God, I needed that," Potter said, flopping back against the sofa. "It's been a long time."

 _Better than never_ , Draco thought, but didn't dare say it aloud. He wasn't quite ready for Potter to find out he was Draco's first. Though it might become painfully obvious very soon.

He cleaned off his hand and retrieved their wine glasses, and then settled on the sofa. Potter climbed up to sit next to him and took his glass. They made a thoroughly debauched picture: both naked from the waist down except for socks, hair mussed, and sloppy satisfied grins painted on their flushed faces.

"That was quick," Potter quipped, swirling his wine glass a bit. "I was hoping we'd shag, but I didn't think we'd be done by 6:00."

"Are you calling us easy?" Draco replied, poking his thigh with a toe. "And who says we're done?"

Potter's eyes lit up at that, and he took a long drink from his glass.

Draco nodded his head in the direction of the bed, on which he'd cast an enlargement spell that afternoon. "Maybe on the bed next time. And I'm going to cast heating charms first."

They were silent for a moment, as if they were both taking it all in.

"Do your parents know you're gay?" Potter asked at last. He never seemed to waste time getting to what he really wanted to say. Draco liked that about him.

"I think so. I haven’t really told anyone, but people seem to know anyway."

"I haven't told anyone," Potter said, watching curtains form on the sides of his wine glass. "You're the only one who knows at this point."

"Me and all of Hogwarts," Draco snickered. At Potter's look of panic, he added, "Peeves made sure everyone heard about it. Why did you think McGonagall let me go?"

Potter had paled a bit. "I didn’t realize -- no one's said anything to me."

"It'll blow over," Draco said. "Well, unless you decide to make it official and start showing up with me in gay clubs."

"I can just see the headlines now." Potter shook his head, and Draco swallowed down a jolt of apprehension. He would need to bring up the interview at the magazine at some point, and he wasn't looking forward to it. Best to change the subject for now.

"Want something to eat?" He collected their empty glasses and set them aside.

"Something else, you mean?"

Potter's grin was wicked, and Draco couldn't help himself; he lunged for Potter and pinned him to the sofa with a kiss. Potter's body felt warm and _right_ beneath him, and he couldn't imagine he'd lived without this for so long.

He was getting hard again, and Potter shifted beneath him so that their pricks were pressed together. "Shouldn't we try this on the bed?" Draco asked, though he made no move to get up.

"Next time," Potter replied. "Right now, I just need… like that, right there…"

Draco shifted onto his knees for more leverage, and Potter wrapped his thighs around him, and with a jolt Draco realized they were in position for something else entirely.

He kissed Potter again, and tried to imagine what it would be like to thrust inside him, into that tight arse, pounding into him over and over. The urge to penetrate was suddenly overwhelming, and he wasn't sure what to do.

"I want to fuck you," he whispered against Potter's ear, feeling his cheeks warm as he said it.

Potter gasped, but he didn't stop moving. He pulled Draco back into a kiss, and after a moment whispered, "All right."

The words were so soft they were nearly inaudible, and for a moment Draco was sure he had imagined them. He thrust against Potter harder, and crushed his face into Potter's shoulder. "Yes," Potter whispered, a bit louder this time. "I want you to fuck me."

And before he could think about what to do next, Draco came. It happened so quickly he couldn't stop it, and then he was lying in a sticky heap on top of Potter, thoroughly embarrassed.

Potter laughed, and it was a warm, friendly sound. Draco pushed himself to sitting and shook his head. "Sorry."

"Don't be," Potter replied, grinning up at him. "We have all night."

 _And many more nights, too_. Draco didn't dare say it aloud.

"But in the meantime…" Potter tugged Draco's hand to his still-stiff prick.

"I can do better than that." Draco slid to the floor and contemplated Potter's cock. This was something he had only started fantasizing about recently, and his mouth was watering at the very idea. He didn't bother teasing; he simply swallowed Potter's cock and sucked. He massaged the shaft with his tongue, and pressed the foreskin against the head in little circles, something that Potter had seemed to like earlier. He inhaled the scent of him, and let the taste of him fill his mouth, and it was like nothing he'd imagined.

It didn’t take Potter long to come, and though Draco had plenty of warning, he didn't pull away. The sensation of semen flooding his mouth was a bit odd, and he had to force himself to swallow. He was mildly disappointed that it was over so quickly, but Potter let him keep sucking until his prick was spent.

They finally moved to the bed after that, and Potter helped him cast a few heating charms, enough to make the room more comfortable. They spent the evening and much of the night exploring each other's bodies, playing, experimenting with ways to make each other laugh and moan with pleasure. Draco had been reluctant to have anything near his arsehole, but Potter's fingers proved to be an exception. They found a good position in which they could suck each other at the same time, and Draco was surprised that taking it slow was just as much fun as hard and fast.

And around one in the morning, Draco pushed into Potter's body at last, and it was easier than they'd both expected. The feeling of that tight heat was amazing, and he hadn't been able to thrust very much before he came again.

"I can't believe we just did that," Potter said as they burrowed under the blankets, both exhausted.

"I can't believe I have to go to work in a few hours." Draco eyed the clock on the bedside table. "Maybe I'll owl in sick."

"Or well-fucked," Potter added. "You don't have an owl, do you?"

"A tiny wrinkle," Draco replied with a yawn. "Maybe you can teach me that flying note trick."

"You could use my owl. Or would that be too obvious?"

Draco laughed, and then sighed when he remembered the task Marjorie had set him. "Actually, that might make more problems for you than you want. They've been pressuring me to get you to come in for an interview."

Potter was silent for a moment. "What do they want to know?"

"Whatever you'll tell them, I imagine. They're not above making shit up, as you well know."

"Do they know about us?"

Draco rolled onto an elbow to look at Potter. "There's an _us_?"

Potter's eyes were closed. "Whatever this is. You know what I mean."

Draco didn't, but decided not to worry about it for the time being. "The rumors from Hogwarts will make it into the papers eventually. We should probably talk about how we want to respond."

Potter opened his eyes again and stared at the ceiling. "Do you think I should do the interview?"

Draco paused. "The magazine would fall over themselves for it, and -- full disclosure -- I'd definitely be rewarded. But whether it's the best thing for _you_ \-- that's not a question I can answer. If you want to tell your story there, I can help make sure it gets told the way you want it. If you don't want to do it, I won't take it personally."

Potter yawned. "I'll think about it. Up for another go?"

Draco groaned. "I can’t believe I'm saying this, but no. I'm exhausted."

"Oh, all right," Potter said in mock exasperation. "I suppose I can hold out until morning."

That had gone much better than expected, and Draco was relieved. Marjorie would just have to wait another day for any news from him, and if she didn't like it, well -- the worst that could happen was not so bad. He'd been sacked five times already, and he'd survived.

He was asleep within two minutes, and slept better than he had done in years.

*****

[EPILOGUE]

Draco set the steaming cup of tea on the table and yawned, then settled into a chair. A picture of Harry smiled at him from the cover of the most recent issue of _Witch Weekly_ , and he picked it up to admire it. The photo was a flattering one, even with the words "EXCLUSIVE FIRST INTERVIEW" dancing across his forehead.

He flipped to the article and re-read his favorite part.

_When asked about his love life, Potter is much less forthcoming. His recent breakup with longtime girlfriend Ginny Weasley may have surprised many of our readers, but recent rumors that he may now be involved with the son of the infamous Death Eater Lucius Malfoy are nothing short of shocking._

_"Draco Malfoy is close friend of mine," Potter says with a sly smile. "And that's all I have to say on the subject."_

_Potter's friends are equally tight-lipped, though one coworker acknowledges that Potter and Malfoy are seen together quite often. "I'm not saying there's anything going on there," our source tells us, "but who cares? Harry Potter deserves to be happy, and if it takes another wizard to do that, fine. We should all be happy for him, after everything he's done for us."_

A warm pair of hands clasped Draco's shoulders and squeezed. "Are you reading it again?"

Harry stumbled toward the teapot and poured himself a cup. His pyjama bottoms hung low on his hips, and Draco was transfixed by the trail of dark hair that disappeared into them.

"My eyes are up here," Harry said with a grin.

"And they are lovely, but not my favorite part of you."

Harry leaned in for a quick kiss, and Draco pulled him into his lap, deepening it.

"I have to get to work," Harry moaned, though he didn't protest when Draco worked a hand into his pants.

"I want to have the taste of you in my mouth while I'm in that long, boring meeting this morning," Draco said. "Those advertising wizards are the worst."

Harry stood and grinned and Draco slid to his knees on the floor. "Only a week after your big promotion, and you're already complaining?"

Draco tugged Harry's pyjamas down enough to free his cock. "After all these weeks of amazing sex, you haven't learned a thing about me, have you?"

"I've learned more than you might expect. I -- oh, fuck yeah…"

Draco was tempted to stretch it out, but they did both have to get to work. Today was Friday, and they had all weekend to spend in bed. He worked Harry's prick with his tongue and fingers, and within two minutes had him on the edge of coming. Harry's hands grasped Draco's head and held him in place, and then Harry pumped his hips slowly, fucking Draco's mouth.

"That is so hot," he whispered, and then Draco took charge again, sucking until Harry's knees buckled and he collapsed on the floor.

"Give me a minute," Harry said breathlessly, sprawled on the floor by the table, his cock now lilting to the side.

"You can pay me back tonight." Draco wiped a hand across his mouth and grinned, then collected his things for the day.

"And you can spend the entire day thinking about it." Harry pushed himself to his feet. "Mind if I shower?"

"Mind? I'd appreciate it, actually."

Harry swatted at Draco's arse, and Draco caught his hand as he passed and pulled him back into a kiss.

"I will spend the entire day thinking about you," Draco whispered against his lips.

Harry's arms around him tightened for a moment, and then he pulled out of the kiss. He smiled and headed to the shower.

Draco wrapped his cloak about his shoulders. It was going to be a long day, but having Harry to come home to made it all worthwhile.

 _Home._ He smiled, glanced around the tiny flat, and then closed the door behind him.

*****

_fin_


End file.
